


Among the Sandrunners

by devilinthedetails



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Bazhir, Cultural Differences, Cultural Diversity, Desert, First Meetings, Gen, Questions, introductions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-16 00:07:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16943271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilinthedetails/pseuds/devilinthedetails
Summary: Raoul begins to be adopted by the Sandrunners.





	Among the Sandrunners

**Author's Note:**

  * For [westernsunset](https://archiveofourown.org/users/westernsunset/gifts).



> Set before Lioness Rampant during one of Raoul's recruitment trips for the Own to the desert. I was always intrigued by how Raoul can to be adopted by the Sandrunners so this story is a brief exploration of that. 
> 
> Written for westernsunset as part of the Wishing Tree Event at Goldenlake.

Among the Sandrunners

“I welcome you and your men in the name of the Voice who sent you.” Zirhud, headman of the Sandrunners, bowed to Raoul, who had come among the Bazhir on a recruiting mission for the Own, which needed more hardened warriors like the Bazhir and less of the soft debauchers it had attracted during King Roald’s reign. “I invite you to share my family’s tent during your time among our people.” 

“I would be honored to share your tent.” Raoul returned the Bazhir chief’s bow, and soon found himself ushered out of the bright golden sand and sun into the cool shade of a canvas tent. 

“My wife, Nadira.” Zirhud nodded to a woman whose hair was hidden behind a salmon pink veil—the color of the veil astonished Raoul, who had expected all Bazhir women to wear the black veils Jon had described seeing among the Bloody Hawk, but he supposed those customs must differ from tribe to tribe—and then to a small boy clinging to fistfuls of her skirts. “My son, Qasim.” 

“A pleasure to meet you.” Raoul bowed to the woman and then knelt to greet her son. “You look like you’re going to be a mighty warrior when you grow up. How old are you, youngster?” 

The boy made no reply beyond ducking behind his mother’s legs. 

“The boy is shy. I apologize for his rudeness.” Nadira seemed to be irked by her son clutching her skirts for she tugged the boy’s hands away from the folds of fabric between his fists and nudged him from her with a tap on his backside that sent him fleeing to his father instead. Then she began to lay a short table with anaphoras of date juice, bowls of pomegranates, and platefuls of lamb skewers seasoned in spices Raoul had never smelled nonetheless tasted before. 

The heady aromas swirled inside Raoul’s nostrils, and he was grateful when his host gestured for him to sit at the table before his stomach was tempted to growl. Sitting at the short table proved to be an embarrassment for him. His large knees almost knocked over the table several times before he managed to position them properly on the silk pillows covering the tent’s floor. Cheeks flaming as a setting sun, Raoul thought he hadn’t felt so ungainly since the last great growth spurt of his adolescence. 

Nadira was gracious enough to avert her eyes from his humiliation, and Zirhud polite enough to refrain from commenting on Raoul’s clumsiness, but Qasim, staring at Raoul as if he were a giant out of legend, overcame his shyness at last to say, “I’ve never seen a northerner before. Are all northerners as tall as you?” 

“Qasim!” scolded Zirhud. “This man is a guest in our tent. We don’t ask such discourteous questions of guests when they come under our tent.” 

“I prefer to think of it as admiring rather than discourteous.” Raoul was recovered enough from his embarrassment to grin at first Zirhud and then young Qasim. “I assure you that I’m very tall among my own kind as well. I’m forever scraping my head against ceilings and knocking over furniture.” 

Raoul’s answer seemed to give Qasim the courage to continue with his questions. “Are all northerners pink as Mother’s veil like you?” 

“No.” Raoul chuckled at the realization that the boy was referring to his sunburned face. “Only after we’ve been in the sun too long. Then we get burned pink as your mother’s veil.” 

“Oh.” Qasim gnawed at a lamb skewer as he considered this conundrum. Triumph replacing his thoughtful expression, he exclaimed in satisfaction, “You should wear a burnoose! Then you won’t be burned by the sun.” 

“Perhaps I should.” Raoul smiled and sipped at his pomegranate juice. Bazhir clothing was designed over the centuries for dwelling in the desert. It wouldn’t do him any harm to dress more as a Bazhir when he was among them in their harsh land with its merciless sun and wind. “Maybe you could show me how to wear one after we’re finished eating.”


End file.
